


The Beauty is a Beast

by grelleswife



Series: Kuroshitsuji Ladies Appreciation Week 2020 [5]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Beast goes feral, Crimes & Criminals, Doll's gender identity is very ambiguous, Gen, Grelle is in the background causing havoc, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Kidnapping, Police, Swearing, based on an idea I have for a Birds of Prey AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:48:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24430846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grelleswife/pseuds/grelleswife
Summary: When police officer Mally Noah uncovers sinister activities behind a string of missing child cases, she's determined to bring the culprits to justice. However, after the very system for which she works turns against her, she may have to go rogue.
Relationships: Beast & Doll (Kuroshitsuji)
Series: Kuroshitsuji Ladies Appreciation Week 2020 [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758298
Kudos: 6





	The Beauty is a Beast

**Author's Note:**

> Beast's first name here, Mally, is taken from the anime adaptation of the circus arc.
> 
> This small fic is connected to a larger AU I have in mind that is (very) loosely inspired by Birds of Prey. Let's just say that Grelle is a little like Harley Quinn and leads the other Kuro ladies in rebellion against wicked government schemes, the patriarchy, etc. However, the present fic is focused on Beast's origin story as a member of Grelle's girl gang, the Scarlet Women.
> 
> I know next to nothing about how the police system works, so please forgive my inaccuracies!

Throughout England, children were disappearing.

Children with no parents and no place to call home, forced to make do on scraps and the public’s condescending pity, snatched from street corners.

Children whose mothers had more offspring than they could keep an eye on, wandering out of their cramped, rundown apartments never to be seen again.

Children whose parents worked late hours in grim factories to make ends meet, vanishing off the face of the earth on their way home from school.

No one could account for this spike in cases, but all of them remained unsolved. Officer Mally Noah wanted to change that. There was supposed to be more to her profession than handing out speeding tickets and answering prank emergency calls. Someone had to help these kids, and if the higher-ups were taking their sweet time, maybe she could glean a few insights on her own.

Mally was a cop, but she’d made a few underworld connections. You had to keep your ear to the ground in her line of work. One of those informants, the kooky mortician whose bangs perpetually covered his eyes, insinuated that the disappearances were linked.

“A big fat spider reeling in itty bitty flies, my dear,” he giggled. God, that man gave her the creeps. But when she pressed him for more details, he offered her lukewarm tea and a biscuit disconcertingly similar to a dog treat instead.

“Certain things are best left well enough alone, my dear,” he cackled.

Mally left his establishment more anxious and frustrated than when she’d arrived, wracking her brains as she puzzled over her next move.

“Maybe Doll’s heard something…”

Doll (or Freckles, depending on how they felt on a given day), was a homeless kid with a brutal burn scar down the side of their face from what Mally believed to be past domestic abuse. Though skittish around most law enforcement, Doll had gradually taken a shine to Mally, who they called “big sis,” and would occasionally give her tidbits of information if she asked politely. With a piece of Funtom Candy or two thrown in to sweeten the deal. They lived a semi-nomadic existence with a small, loosely-organized band of friends, making a regular circuit of London every several months. Kids were more observant than adults gave them credit for; Doll might have seen shady goings-on related to the missing child cases.

After making a quick dash into the nearest Funtom store to stock up on lollies, Mally walked to a nearby park that was one of Doll’s favorite haunts. The kid could be hard to locate, but luck smiled on Mally this time. She spotted her young friend sitting on a low-hanging tree branch and casually kicking their legs. Doll brightened, gave her a gap-toothed grin, and waved so vigorously that Mally was scared they’d topple off the branch.

“Hey, big sis!” they called. Doll hopped down and raced towards her.

Mally stooped to give them a quick hug. “Hey, Doll!” she laughed.

“That ain’t m’name, big sis. Right now it’s Freckles,” they corrected her, sticking out their tongue.

Mally didn’t entirely understand why they switched between being “Freckles” and “Doll,” but that was their business. She just tried to use the right name and respect who they were.

“Sorry about that, love. I was wondering if you could lend me a hand…”

Mally quickly explained the situation and offered her first lolly as tribute. Worry darkened their tanned face for a second, but then Freckles eagerly accepted the lolly and stuffed in their mouth.

“Think I seen somethin’ that might help ya.”

Last Tuesday, Freckles had been “hangin’ around” a seedy back alley. By now, Mally knew better than to ask what exactly Freckles had been doing there in the first place, but they readily told her about the exchange they’d witnessed while hidden in the shadows. Two sleek black vans had pulled in. The first one opened to spit out six battered, frightened children, herded along by a stranger with a broad-brimmed hat and a bandana covering the lower half of their face. Two distinctive-looking men emerged from the second. It had been hard to see fine details given how far away the nearest streetlamp was. However, Freckles described one of them as “blond and skinnier’n a toothpick. Needed a haircut, and dressed to the nines in white. Bloke was tryin’ to look like a movie star, I reckon. I’d say he reminded me of a rat, but rats are cute. And his smile gave you goosebumps. Not the good kind.”

His partner was “fat as a pig, with a tophat and this freaky mask covering his face. Like a…a clown or summat.” According to Freckles, the two men had handed the stranger several thick stacks of pound notes, hastily loaded the children into their van, shaken the stranger’s hand, and driven off into the night.

“Scared the hell out of me,” Freckles concluded. Normally, nothing could rattle their confidence—in fact, Mally often worried for the brazen street urchin’s safety—but the spectacle they’d witnessed had left them visibly shaken. They looked a trifle paler than usual, and they shifted restlessly from foot to foot, glancing around nervously as if those menacing vans might reappear at any moment.

Although Freckles’ descriptions gave an incomplete picture, Mally was almost certain she knew who the two men were. A tall, blond would-be fashionista in white? That sounded an awful lot like notorious singer, actor, and dancer Aleister Chamber, who’d developed something akin to a cult following. Under the stage name Druitt, he’d made England’s girls swoon as a teen heartthrob and lead singer of the boy band Phoenix, eventually striking out on his own in what had proven to be a lucrative career. Druitt had a reputation for being a party animal, and his lifestyle resulted in occasional brushes with the law. Drugs, booze, sleazy dealings—the usual. But dark rumors swirled around the golden-haired star.

More than once, Druitt had been accused of preying on minors, unsuspecting fans lured in by his charm. The scandals inevitably fizzled out before landing in court…but Druitt did like his partners on the younger side. 15 years younger at least, often more.

There were whispers of sinister goings-on at some of those parties, of darkened rooms in Druitt’s mansion where worshippers wearing cloaks and masks performed satanic rituals. It sounded too crazy to be believed…but Druitt’s fascination with fringe religions and the occult was no secret.

One tabloid boldly claimed that Druitt dabbled in the black market for organs and other body parts. There was barely a scrap of proof to back up their would-be exposé…but the tabloid folded shortly after publishing that article. When Mally had done a little digging out of professional curiosity, she discovered that the reporter who’d written it had been found dead on her couch after a heroin overdose. Open-and-shut case. The police breezed through it quickly. Almost too quickly, considering her lack of a criminal record, any previous drug abuse, or even a medical history that would have called for prescription opioids. Mally didn’t like it.

A corpulent man with an old-fashioned hat and a full face mask? It had to be Kelvin.

He’d inherited a king’s ransom in family money, made thousands more in investments, and earned a few additional millions after establishing himself as an entertainment mogul with Kelvin Film Studios. Kelvin funneled the bulk of his wealth into charitable causes, including literacy programs, over a dozen orphanages, animal rights activism, and much more, and he’d received numerous accolades for his humanitarian work. He was squeaky-clean on the surface, but Mally had long suspected there were maggots beneath the varnish.

The man was obsessed with ideals of beauty. However, instead of collecting paintings or sculptures, Kelvin packed his manor with massive cases of porcelain dolls. In interviews, he’d explained that he loved their perfect proportions, flawless porcelain skin, and bright, twinkling eyes. The homely Kelvin emulated their example, and he’d spent God knows how much on plastic surgery. It never had the desired effect, though. If you looked at photos of him through the years, Kelvin looked progressively more unnatural with each procedure, sliding deeper into the uncanny valley. The surgeries grew more frequent and extensive. The sorry business culminated in a botched operation that ruined his face beyond repair. Ever since, Kelvin lived as a recluse and never let himself be seen or photographed without a mask. After an ugly divorce, his wife told reporters that he’d gone mad, that he spent hours staring at his dolls, and that “those damn Phantomhives” were to blame for his declining mental health, although she didn’t specify how. But the former Mrs. Kelvin had suffered a nervous breakdown shortly thereafter, so who could say how much of the story was true?

Kelvin’s orphanages were respectable, well-run establishments, but there was an odd tendency for an orphan here or there to die of unexpected causes. Rare genetic conditions, aggressive childhood cancers, freak accidents when the kid had been playing where they shouldn’t. The reason varied, but the end result was always the same: The child disappeared completely, as if they’d never existed, their only funeral a “private ceremony” that the press wasn’t allowed to attend.

After hearing what Freckles had to say, Mally was starting to get a clearer picture, and it was turning out damn ugly. It would look suspicious if weird things happened to too many children from Kelvin’s homes, which meant it would make sense for him to “outsource.” Did that explain the collusion with Druitt? But what the hell did they _want_ these kids for in the first place?

“An’ that ain’t all,” Freckles continued, speaking around their lolly. “My mates have seen ‘em, too. Dagger spotted the two blokes last week talkin’ to this little girl who’d gotten lost and was out on the street late at night. At first he thought they were nice chaps just tryin’ to help her get back to her parents. But then a coupla buses passed in front of him—Dagger was on the other side of the street ‘cross from them—an’ when the buses were gone, he didn’t see the gents or the girl anywhere. He had a weird feelin’ about the whole thing…Oh yeah! An’ sister Wendy was near Druitt’s place for…uh…for business,” Freckles scuffed their feet and looked away furtively, “and thought she saw some kids brought in the back way. They came in one o’ those black vans, too.”

Mally’s worry intensified. The undertaker hadn’t been lying when he compared Kelvin to a spider. How far did this web reach?

“Would you and your friends be willing to talk about this with an inspector, hun?” she asked gently. Rich bastards like Kelvin and Druitt were more slippery than eels. She’d need official testimony to even hope to open an investigation against them.

Freckles shook their head in adamant refusal. “Hell no. I don’t talk to cops. Nor my mates, neither,” they said flatly.

“You talk to _me_ , love.”

“Yeah, but you’re different, big sis. You’re nice. The others ‘re just arseholes.”

However, after several minutes of coaxing (plus an additional Funtom lolly) Freckles agreed, on the condition that they, Dagger and Wendy hold the interview away from both the police station and their own base of operations.

“Don’t want the boys in blue knowin’ where we live,” they insisted. Mally conceded they had a point; other officers were much harsher towards the ragamuffins eking out a living in London’s sewers and alleyways.

“You be careful, you hear? And if you see those men again, don’t stick around; _run_.” Mally fretted about Freckles enough as it was. It made her blood run cold to think of what might happen if they fell into Kelvin’s and Druitt’s clutches.

Freckles laughed and put their hands on their hips. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, big sis. If that fatty tries to grab me, I’ll outrun ‘im by a mile!”

Mally ruffled their hair and tried to quell the unease churning her stomach.

Luckily, she knew at least one man she could trust: Inspector Fred Abberline. That was why she pulled him aside for a hushed conference later that day.

“I think this could be _huge_ , Fred.”

He was aghast. “You’re right. We need to look into this at once…those poor children!” Abberline was a softhearted bloke, and he’d taken a keen interest in the cluster of missing children’s cases.

Mally took him to speak with Freckles, Dagger, and Wendy, who warily gave their testimony. By the time they’d finished, Mally’s and Fred’s shifts were drawing to a close, but Abberline was bursting with excitement.

“I’ll share these notes with Randall first thing tomorrow morning!”

Adrenaline rushed through Mally’s veins during her bus ride home that evening. The thrill of the hunt as she closed in on her quarry. She was shooting for big game, but Mally didn’t back down from a challenge.

The next day, however, Abberline approached her gray-faced and trembling.

Mally’s good spirits sank. “Is everything okay?”

“Randall was _furious_. Chewed me out for a good half hour—you know how he gets. Basically said we’d be sacked if we tried to pursue this any further.”

Mally stood in stunned silence before erupting in fury. “ ** _What?!_** ” she roared.

“H-he says the word of a few street rats isn’t good enough, that we’re just trying to stir up trouble—"

“Oh, I’ll _give_ him trouble, if he wants it,” Mally spat, stalking towards Randall’s office.

Abberline grabbed her sleeve.

“I know you’re angry. I get it. I’m as upset about it as you. But you know that losing your temper doesn’t—"

“I’ll give that stiff-necked son of a bitch a piece of my mind, and then some!” Mally declared as she strode ahead like a bloodthirsty general leading troops into battle. People in her way scurried aside quicker than the Red Sea parted before Moses; Mally’s fiery temper was not to be trifled with, and had caused her to butt heads with Randall on many occasions prior to this one.

Of course, it had ended as badly as Abberline warned.

“But sir—”

“I said, that’s _enough_ , Officer Noah.” Randall surveyed her coldly over his spectacles. “The Kelvin case—if there was a case to begin with—is closed. Let it go, and put it behind you.”

“Let it _go_?! These men are a menace! Eyewitness accounts implicated them in _human trafficking_ , for Christ’s sake!"

“I’m a busy man, Officer Noah. We’ve already got enough trouble on our hands with Sutcliff’s merry band running amuck. I don’t have time to waste on wild accusations against one of London’s most respected philanthropists. Please see yourself out, madame. _Now._ ” Randall gave her one last steely glare and then directed his attention to reshuffling his paperwork. Mally had effectively been dismissed.

She stormed off, slamming the door behind her and stalking back to her office in disbelief. The beleaguered policewoman sat at her desk, put her head in her hands, and sighed wearily.

“Had a run-in with the old bastard, did you?” Joker asked in sympathy. She looked up to see him leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

“That’s one way to put it,” Mally growled. She angrily recounted the whole tale to her friend. After she finished, he paused for a moment before replying.

“I dunno…I think I’m with Abberline on this one. You might just need to keep yer head down fer now.”

“But Joker! I thought _you’d_ understand, at least!”

His shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry, Mal, but there’s nothin’ you can do about it. Randall’s an arsehole, but this is one time you might actually want to follow his advice.”

“Put it behind me? While Kelvin and Druitt are doing God knows what with those kids?”

Joker’s mouth twisted to the side.

“You know I don’t mean it like that, lass. It’s just…When a person’s rich like Kelvin and Druitt are, we can’t touch ‘em. No matter how much shit they wade through, they’ll come out smelling of roses.”

“That’s not the way it _ought_ to be,” Mally snarled through gritted teeth. She hadn’t joined the force to tiptoe around fat, disgusting old men.

“But it’s the way things _are_. If you aren’t careful, you could wind up in a spot of trouble yerself.”

Mally straightened and gave him a sharp look.

“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”

Her partner shook his head and lowered his voice.

“It could be dangerous if you don’t drop this case, Mal. Kelvin has connections. You don’t want to get on the bad side of a man like that.”

“I don’t think men in masks are gonna drag me away like I’m in a B-level spy film,” Mally rolled her eyes.

“Well, jus’…please look out fer yerself, okay?”

“Sure,” she replied curtly.

Joker gave her a sad smile and a wave of his prosthetic hand before leaving her be.

Mally hung her head despondently. Even Joker didn’t seem willing to back her up. They’d entered the force at around the same time, and he’d been her partner on patrol for years. Joker was born without a right hand, just like Mally was missing a leg, and he’d never mocked her prosthetic behind her back the way some of these arseholes at the station did. His off-the-wall sense of humor often had her in stitches—he’d even juggle on occasion if he’d had a few beers. He was a damn good cop, too, and she could count on him to have her back if things went south. Why the hell had he gotten so spineless all of a sudden? The bitter taste of disappointment clung to the back of her tongue, like the foul, tepid coffee they served in the lounge.

Then, Mally sat bolt upright. Randall refused to listen, but even he had superiors. She logged into her desktop (drumming her fingers impatiently when the damn thing took its usual ten minutes lagtime to load) and started furiously typing an email. She wasn’t gonna let this go, not by a long shot.

Joker’s voice sounded in her mind.

 _Look out fer yerself_.

She suppressed a cold shiver as she recalled the reporter who’d tried to blow the whistle on Druitt. But something like that wouldn’t happen to her. Mally was smart and knew how to defend herself. Justice would be served. She’d see to that.

* * *

Justice didn’t get served. Instead, Mally received a summons to Randall’s office the next day. Even before she walked in, she knew shit was going to hit the fan. When Randall called for you, heads were about to roll. Usually yours.

The edges of her vision shrank as he handed out the verdict, and a dull roar sounded in her ears. However, she clearly heard the words “unforgivable insubordination” and “troublemaker” and “fired.” Mally was so numb with rage and incredulity that she couldn’t even whisper, let alone roar the way she wanted too.

She had 24 hours to pack her things and leave the station. A few of her colleagues gave her sympathetic looks as she trudged to her office, but no one dared to help her. That might make them guilty by association in Randall’s eyes.

Joker passed her in the hall while she was carrying her box of office supplies with her on the way out. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then shook his head and rushed past, his face ashen. Mally stared after him in outraged disbelief. He hadn’t said a proper goodbye, or spoken with her at all that day. It was like he was deliberately trying to avoid her.

“Bugger it. I don’t need him, anyway,” she muttered as she trudged to the bus stop. Mally knew how office politics could be, but she and Joker were _friends_. Or so she’d thought, at least.

* * *

_One month later_

Mally sat cross-legged on her sofa, sullenly munching on a stale chocolate chip cookie and staring at the news broadcast on the telly without really watching it. She wore nothing but sweat pants and a ratty crop top, plus an old quilt thrown around her shoulders for comfort.

Mally had been frantically jobhunting day and night. Anything would do. She couldn’t afford to be picky. Although she had a small nest egg tucked away in the bank for a rainy day, the rent for this place wasn’t cheap. Mally could last two more months here without getting evicted, maybe three if she skimped on groceries. She needed a steady income, and fast, but every place to which she’d applied had turned her down. Several of the places had rejected her application outright once they’d seen her name. When she went to one restaurant in person to introduce herself and turn in her resume, the manager blanched, backed away, and shook his head.

“If you take my advice, you’ll leave London. Better yet, leave the country. Take a nice vacation somewhere sunny and far away from here. It’s a bad idea around once you’ve been blacklisted.”

Blacklisted? That was when Mally realized, to her growing alarm, that Joker may have had a point about not crossing Kelvin and Druitt. Powerful men with connections…the kind of connections that could make you virtually employable. Erase you.

She swallowed the last of her cookie with difficulty (her mouth had gone dry), brushed the crumbs from her fingers, and hugged her knees to her chest.

Tears welled up in Mally’s eyes. This wasn’t the way she’d thought things would go. She remembered her younger self first training to become a police officer, bright-faced and hopeful, convinced that she was going to make the world a better place. That was a laugh. She hadn’t counted on working with a bunch of bastards always ready to sneak a look at her arse or make snide remarks about how tight her uniform was in front. It wasn’t her bloody fault she was a size D! She’d grossly underestimated the corruption, the extent to which officers abused their power against the most vulnerable citizens, and the depressing regularity with which affluent wrongdoers got off scot-free while the disadvantaged were pummeled for committing minor offenses.

She’d been stupid to think she could change anything, and damn stupid to believe she could go up against Kelvin and Druitt and emerge unscathed. And what about Doll and their friends? Mally realized in horror that she may have put them in danger, too. She had to warn them…

As she clambered to her feet, her ears pricked up at the news anchor’s voice.

“…the latest exploits of the “Scarlet Women” terrorizing London have police and Scotland Yard scrambling…” he intoned.

Mally had been so mired in her own misery that she wasn’t keeping up with current events like she should, but the Scarlet Women were the talk of London. An all-woman gang led by former night club performer Grelle Sutcliff, the vigilantes targeted abusers, child molesters, corrupt politicians, and others who deserved to rot in prison but still walked free to cause more harm. When the law failed to bring these people to justice, the Scarlet Women did the job, often with a generous helping of blood and gore on the side. They’d made headlines over the last several months, and evidence suggested that new members were joining their ranks.

The more conservative newspapers and codgers like Randall denounced the Scarlet Women as a public menace, but Mally wasn’t so sure. Their methods could be violent, but their “victims” sure as hell weren’t innocent.

“People cannot take justice into their own hands,” the reporter droned on, seated at his desk with the pompous, bloated self-assurance of a toad perched on a tree stump. “Yes, our legal system has its flaws, but…”

“You’re damn right it has flaws,” Mally growled while she clenched her hands. She’d tried to raise the alarm about Druitt and Kelvin the “right” way, and look where it had gotten her. But maybe Sutcliff’s Scarlet Women could have stopped them. Setting the whole rotten establishment ablaze…

She was jolted out of these thoughts by a frantic rapping at the window. Mally’s eyes narrowed. A burglar, or some stupid kid who’d climbed up the building on a dare?

Or a trap? If Mally really was on some sort of “blacklist” of Kelvin’s enemies, she should be wary. Dashing to her bedroom, she removed her gun from the drawer and flipped off the safety. Then, she advanced, slowly and cautiously, holding the weapon in front of her. However, Mally lowered the gun in astonishment when she saw whose face was pressed against the window.

She raced ahead and opened it.

“Wendy! What are you doing here? Come on inside, love.”

The young woman gracefully vaulted into the living room while Mally closed the window. Due to a medical condition, Wendy was about the height of a primary school girl, but in actuality she was close to Mally’s age. Mally knew from Doll’s stories that Wendy was agile as a cat, and fully capable of scaling a skyscraper if need be. Her friend always clammed up when Mally pressed them about why Wendy did so much climbing in the first place, though the former policewoman suspected petty thievery had something to do with it. But Wendy was one of the group’s main breadwinners; Mally couldn’t investigate her and risk her arrest in good conscience.

“We ain’t got much time, sis,” Wendy panted. Her eyes darted to and fro, like a frightened squirrel that senses a hawk overhead. “If we don’t get a move on, they’ll get’cher, and Freckles wouldn’t like that. Nor would I. Ye’ve always been good to us—”

Mally held up a hand. “Wait, hun…what’s going on? I don’t understand.”

“It’s Kelvin’s and Druitt’s lot. They’re comin’ for yer, on their way now.”

Mally took a step back.

“Not much time ter explain. Doll spotted some blokes gettin’ in a black van, talkin’ bout how they was goin’ ter _take care_ of Mally Noah, an’ back to me flippin’ their lid and sayin’ we had ter help ye. I’m small, but I’m fast, ‘specially with my gear.”

It was then that Mally noticed the rappelling equipment Wendy wore.

For a moment, she blinked in a daze.

“How far away are they?” she finally asked.

“With traffic the way it is…’bout ten minutes tops. I know a way we can go on foot, to get back ter our place. Ye can lay low there fer a while, if ye’d like.”

“Thank you,” Mally breathed, snapping back to attention. If Wendy hadn’t warned her…but there was no time to dwell on that now.

“I can pack a suitcase in five.”

Wendy nodded tensely, and Mally tore back to her room, throwing in a few outfits and toiletries.

While rifling through the closet, she noticed the coiled whip lying in the corner. It was a family heirloom. Her grandma’s. Mally had never known Nana Betty, but Ma told her that she worked with a circus troupe as an animal tamer. When she was a kid, Mally had dreamed of following in her footsteps, and would sometimes sneak into her Ma’s room to fool around with the whip and pretend she was training a tiger to jump through flaming hoops. After Ma’s death from leukemia, Mally kept the whip as a reminder of happier times. She wasn’t sure what made her grab it now and stuff it in the suitcase, but this was no time for reflection when death was minutes away.

“This way, sis,” Wendy beckoned once she emerged from the room with suitcase in hand. Together, they crept out the back of Mally’s apartment complex and slipped away into the night.

* * *

Almost as soon as they left, a sleek black van pulled up a few blocks from the apartment. Three shadowy figures crept out, stealthily making their way to the building where their quarry lived, using a few tricks to open the back door, and picking the lock to the nosy policewoman’s room. They entered with weapons at the ready, prepared to eliminate the nuisance. Where was she?

They ransacked the room from top to bottom, turning the place upside down in mounting fury. To no avail. Mally Noah was gone.


End file.
